


In which Grantaire is bad at maths

by icantwrite1832



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, College, Dyscalculia, Enjolras and Cosette Fauchelevent are Twins, Grocery Shopping, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, M/M, but not really, maths is hard
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-08
Updated: 2021-02-08
Packaged: 2021-03-14 01:14:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,850
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29288157
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/icantwrite1832/pseuds/icantwrite1832
Summary: Grantaire's always struggled with maths. Combeferre and Enjolras try to help.
Relationships: Combeferre/Enjolras/Grantaire (Les Misérables)
Comments: 4
Kudos: 24





	In which Grantaire is bad at maths

Grantaire is bad at maths. That is a fact. Ever since he was a child, he had been bad at maths. Whenever he saw numbers, they would all just jumble up and not make sense to him. Throughout his school years, he’d been embarrassed constantly by his maths teachers because he couldn’t do 2+2 without counting on his fingers. He never messed around in lessons and he tried to pay attention, but with everyone else talking and the teacher not explaining, Grantaire never could grasp even the most basic of maths problems. 

His parents weren’t happy about it, but the more he tried to explain, the more they believed he was lying and spent the lessons messing around. Instead of doing the normal thing of sending Grantaire to a specialist to see if he had anything wrong with him, or get him a tutor or something, R parents used to force him to sit down and do the maths problems every night until he had the answers memorised. If he didn’t get 100% on the maths test, or if he came home with anything less than a B, he’d be in trouble. Big trouble. 

But those days had passed, and Grantaire had pushed all of those memories to the back of his mind. He was in art college, that didn’t care if you knew what 7x6 was. All they wanted was your ability to paint and draw, and Grantaire had that. 

He’d met Les Amis in his 2nd year. They went to the college just down the road from him, but they’d welcomed him in anyway. He knew Bahorel from the gym and Eponine was his childhood best friend, so he fitted in just right. No one ever asked him to do anything to do with maths, instead allowing him to design posters and flyers.

They had found out about his inability to do maths properly when they needed a date on the flyers.

“It’s 8 days from now.” Enjolras had said, pacing up and down the tables at the Musain. 

Grantaire had nodded. Today was the 23rd of February, which meant that 4 days would take him to the 28th- wait, no, that was wrong. It would take him to the 27th. And then he would have 4 days left, which would take him to the 30th. No, R, February only has 28 days, unless it’s a leap year. Is it a leap year? That’s going to be even worse. 

“Grantaire?” 

He snaps out of his thoughts and looks at Enjolras. “What’s up, babycakes?”

“Don’t call me that. You’ve been staring at your fingers for 5 minutes now.” 

“Oh.” 

Combeferre had moved to the table, sensing something was off. He sits down next to Grantaire and looks at the laptop screen. 

“Is this year a leap year?” He asked Combeferre softly, leg touching his, hoping to not catch everyone else’s attention. 

“No.”  
Okay, so he can do this. He’s on the 23rd now, and 4 days would take him to the 27th. He’d got that far last time. Add another day and that would take him to the 28th. 

He was cut off this time, by a piece of paper sliding his way. The 3rd of March was written on it. He looked up and smiled at Feuilly, murmuring a thanks. 

The rest of Les Amis had moved to the table once Combeferre had moved over. It was a tight-knit group, so they ended up following each other anyway.

“Are you alright, R? You look a bit flustered.” Bossuet had said. 

“I’m fine, I just hate maths.” 

“That wasn’t even hard maths.” Enjolras had murmured, barely loud enough for anyone to hear. Grantaire didn’t hear it, but Combeferre had. He looked up at Enjolras with an icy glare. 

“R,” He said, focusing back on Grantaire. “Can I speak to you for a moment? Alone.” 

Grantaire nodded and stood up to move to the back of the room, where it was the quietest. 

“What’s up?” 

“Have you always struggled with maths?” 

He could feel himself turning red. “Yeah, but it’s not because I didn’t pay attention, I swear.”

“Grantaire, even if you didn’t pay attention, I wouldn’t mind.”

“I’ve just always been bad at maths.”

“Do you struggle with reading the time as well? And comparing numbers?”

“Yeah?” Grantaire didn’t like where this conversation was going. 

“Did you ever go to a specialist for it?”

“Do I look like I went to a specialist for anything?” 

“Point taken. Listen, I have an idea…”

And that’s where this whole thing had taken off. Combeferre would spend an hour a day, helping Grantaire with reading a clock. The rest could be solved later, but clock reading was the most important part apparently. 

The first week was the hardest, and they had needed a lot of breaks. There was a lot of ‘why does six also mean thirty?’ and ‘why does two also mean ten?’, but he was getting there. Slowly, but he could now confidently say he knew when 7 o’clock was, which he hadn’t been able to do before.  
Also, Combeferre had managed to get the clock in the Musain changed. Roman Numerals were confusing Grantaire more and more as he looked at them, but sometimes Combeferre would ask him what time it was, just to be mean, and he would look up and the clock and squint and say a random number, hoping it was the right one. He has a 1 in 12 chance of being right. But now, he could actually tell Ferre the right time, with only a couple moments of panic, and jumbled up numbers before being able to tell him. 

Combeferre must’ve told Enjolras about it because the next date night he and Grantaire had, Enjolras rang Grantaire up 15 minutes before they were going to meet, to tell him to set off now.

“Enjolras, sweetheart, you’re a lifesaver.”

“Yeah, I know I am, but hurry up or else you will be late. Also, it’s just me and you, Ferre had to take another shift at the hospital.”

“I’m getting my shoes on as we speak.”

When he had arrived, they sat down at the table and had fallen into easy conversation. 

“R?” 

“Yeah?”

“You know all those times when you were late to the meetings? Was it seriously just because you couldn’t tell the time.”

“Yeah. But no, as well, I can’t estimate time properly. I would’ve probably set off 10 minutes later if you hadn't rung me.”

“What else do you struggle with?”

“Honestly, anything to do with numbers. I just can’t seem to understand them.”

“Cosette has this thing with numbers as well, but our dad took her to get it checked out.”

“And what did they say it was? Or is it just an actual smartness thing?”

“It’s dyscalculia.” Enjolras said, before sipping his wine. 

“Combeferre mentioned that to me as well, you know?”

“I do, yeah.” 

“Do you two hold meetings about me or something?” Grantaire had asked, smiling. He was slightly concerned, but Enjolras and Combeferre were close. R would’ve felt left out if it wasn’t for the constant attention doted on him from Enjolras and Combeferre.

“No, he’s just concerned for you.” 

“Tell him, I’m fine and I’m just really thick.”

“R, that’s not true.”

“It is.” 

The topic had derailed at that point. 

The next meeting, Combeferre had walked up to him, “When are you next going grocery shopping?”

“Tomorrow, why?”

“Can I come with you?” 

“Sure.”

So, they went grocery shopping together at the cheap shop on the outskirts of the town. What would’ve taken Grantaire 45 minutes, was now pushing for 2 hours. 

“So, which one is the better deal? 2 boxes of Cheerios for £2.50, or 5 boxes of Shreddies for £5.” 

“The Cheerios.” R said, brain hurting. 

“Try again.”

“The Shreddies.” 

Grantaire was very close to falling on the floor and just staying there for the rest of time. His brain hurt, and he was very close to tears, and he was not about to cry in the middle of the shop. 

“Oh, sweetheart.” Ferre had said, once he’d realised what was happening. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to push you.”

R had flinched when Combeferre had put his arm around him, but relaxed again and buried his head on Combeferre’s shoulder.

“I’m sorry I’m so thick.” He had murmured. 

“You’re not, R, I promise you, you’re not. Just because you have a different skill set to others, it doesn’t make you thick.”

Grantaire couldn’t be bothered to argue and he let Combeferre take him around the store, putting things into the cart without looking at the prices. 

When they got into the car, Ferre had looked at Grantaire. “You know we love you, right? Me and Enjolras?”

“Enjolras and I.” R had murmured under his breath. 

“Enjolras and I, then. But you do know that, don’t you?”

“I do, yeah. Why?”

“And you don’t think we’d ever hurt you, do you?”

“No, of course not.” And it all came back to him. “My parents did, though. When I got bad grades in maths.” 

“I figured as much.” Combeferre says. “We want to help you because we love you, and we don’t mind if you make mistakes and don’t get it the first try or if you don’t want to look at numbers for a day. Just tell us and we won’t force you to.”

Grantaire nodded, and put the car into reverse, getting out of the parking lot. 

“Take a right here.” The left indicator was put on. “Other one.” 

“For fucks sake.” R had groaned, changing it. The rest of the trip was silent, apart from their breathing, and the occasional curse word from Grantaire. 

The next week, Enjolras was sitting where Combeferre had been in R’s car. 

“We’ve got 15 minutes before we need to pick him up.” 

“We’re early then.” Grantaire had said, smiling slightly. It was the first time he’d been early in a long time. 

“Yeah.” 

“Then, we need to find a way to kill time.” 

“Yeah! There’s a great podcast on the history of archaeology.” 

“Enjolras,” Grantaire said, turning the engine of his car off, “I’m not going to spend 15 minutes listening to a podcast.”

“Then, what else do you suggest we do?”

Grantaire moves forward, to place his lips on Enjolras’ kissing him softly. His hands trail up to Enjolras’ face, resting on his cheek. Enjolras sighs happily, kissing back. 

The next thing either of them knew was one of the doors opening and Combeferre climbing into the back. They pull away quickly from each other. 

“I’ve just spent my afternoon explaining why people need to wash their assholes, while you two spent it kissing without me.” He jokes, smiling at Grantaire in the mirror. 

R laughs, “It was Enjolras’ job to keep track of time- it wouldn’t work if I tried to do it.”

Enjolras scowls and goes silent until they’re on the main road home. 

“Take a left here.” The right indicator goes on. “Left, Grantaire.”

“Oh, for fucks sake.”


End file.
